Tea Leaf Astrologer

Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)

Say what you will about Aquarians. That they’re headstrong. Paradoxical. Emotionally detached. But if there’s one thing to admire about this enigmatic air sign, it’s that they’re hell-bent on seeking the truth. In other words: You won’t find them drinking the Kool-Aid. This month, cut your favorite water-bearer some slack as they navigate some rather turbulent tides. Give them space. Give them time. They’re sure to come out shining.

Tea leaf “fortunes” for the rest of you:

Pisces (February 19 – March 20)

At this point, suffering is a choice.

Aries (March 21 – April 19) 

Does the word “squirrel” mean anything to you?

Taurus (April 20 – May 20) 

With great risk comes, well, you’ll see.

Gemini (May 21 – June 20)

Two words: trigger warning.

Cancer (June 21 – July 22)

No need to intervene. Read that again.

Leo (July 23 – August 22)

Yes, it’s shiny. Very shiny. But is it merely a distraction?

Virgo (August 23 – September 22) 

Eat the cake.

Libra (September 23 – October 22)

Ask again later.

Scorpio (October 23 – November 21)

Just walk away. It doesn’t matter what they think.

Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21)

Let the candy hearts do the talking.

Capricorn (December 22 – January 19)

Put your phone on silent. It’s time for some “you time.”  PS

Zora Stellanova has been divining with tea leaves since Game of Thrones’ Starbucks cup mishap of 2019. While she’s not exactly a medium, she’s far from average. She lives in the N.C. foothills with her Sphynx cat, Lyla. 

Golftown Journal

It’s a Llamaversary

Talamore’s trademark is in its fourth decade

By Lee Pace

When Philadelphia businessman Bob Levy ventured into the Sandhills three decades ago to launch a golf venture halfway between the Pinehurst Resort bastion to the west and the Pine Needles/Mid Pines juggernaut to the east, he was savvy enough to understand the need to have a clever and engaging marketing hook.

Levy remembered a story in Golf Digest in the 1970s about Chi Chi Rodriguez playing a course in Mexico with his golf bag strapped across the back of a donkey and thought a similar beastly caddie idea might work at Talamore Golf Club. He did some research and learned that a llama would be a better idea for the climate of the Sandhills, and thus Talamore opened in 1991 with golfers having the option of hiring a llama to schlep their golf bags around the Rees Jones-designed course.

Photographs of the llamas doing their thing appeared in hundreds of newspapers and golf publications as the club opened its operation just off Midland Road, halfway between Pinehurst and Southern Pines, and Levy’s marketing staff later created a logo featuring the outline of a llama with a flagstick emanating from his midsection. Displayed in green and yellow, the mark had a striking resemblance to the map-and-flag trademark of a certain golf club in Augusta, Georgia.

Talamore staff thought it something of a badge of honor when the club received a cease-and-desist letter from Augusta National’s legal team. The llamas are no longer used as caddies, but they reside in a pen near the 13th green and are a popular diversion and “selfie” fodder for visiting golfers.

“Everyone knows our llama logo,” says director of golf Tag Leon. “We still use it — just not in green and yellow. We were not going to do battle with those guys. But it’s a cool image. We’ve sold a lot of merchandise with the llama over the years.”

Talamore and its sister property on the north side of Midland Road, Mid South Club, were 1990s entrants to the Sandhills golf derby, playing off a bustling golf economy nationwide and the burgeoning popularity of an area that hosted a U.S. Open, U.S Senior Open and U.S. Women’s Open that decade.

Talamore was conceived as a daily fee/resort course amid the early 1990s golf boom and remains so today. Mid South is a 1994 Arnold Palmer/Ed Seay creation originally known as Pinehurst Plantation and planned as the centerpiece of a gated residential community. It changed owners in the early days and was later rebranded as Mid South, and then picked up by Levy in 2004 as a companion course to Talamore. Mid South remains a private club, but guests in the hundred lodges built over two decades at the two addresses have access to the course.

Both courses and the club facilities have undergone extensive renovations in the 2016-17 window, each now sporting Bermuda greens and updated dining and drinking facilities.

“I’ll put our two courses up against anyone,” says Matt Hausser, the general manager over the two courses who started as an assistant golf pro in 2003. “Both courses are in fantastic shape — fast greens and good fairways. It’s a great one-two punch. Mid South has a lot more water, and Talamore has more rolling topography and makes you play a lot of shots. You get a different feel at each course.”

Rees Jones has extensive personal history in the Sandhills and remembers as a kid staying at the Holly Inn when his father, noted architect Robert Trent Jones, visited to attend golf architect meetings and work on the redesign of Pinehurst No. 4 prior to the PGA Tour visiting in 1973, and on the collaboration with Willard Byrd on the design of the Cardinal Course at the Country Club of North Carolina. Rees designed Pinehurst No. 7 in the mid-1980s and immediately afterward was commissioned by Levy for Talamore, the name coming from a Gaelic word meaning “land of great value.”

“Anytime you get an offer to design a golf course in Pinehurst, you get pretty darn excited,” Jones says. “I couldn’t wait to come back here and do Talamore. The land is very rugged. It has an awful lot of character. It lent to a very dramatic golf course. Strategy is a big part of the game at Talamore. In Pinehurst, you’ve got to build character and challenge, there are so many good golf courses.”

The Mid South course winds around a half dozen lakes, the most noteworthy the one providing the anchor for the ninth and 18th holes and the double-green complex. The par-5 ninth runs right-to-left and downhill into the green, and 18 turns left-to-right into the green. There’s a safe approach on both holes and a more aggressive line as well. The clubhouse sits on a plateau overlooking the green complex and the lake.

“This is a dynamite golf course,” said Seay, Palmer’s longtime design associate who lived in the Sandhills area from 1964-68 while working for Ellis Maples on the design and construction of the Country Club of Whispering Pines and Woodlake Country Club. “It’s everything a golfer could want. It’s one of the best we’ve done. Every hole nestles right in. From one hole to the next, you do not find a similar piece of ground. The variation in contour is remarkable for an area thought to be flat. That’s one of the charms of this golf course.”

Mid South and Talamore operate a golf packaging business and can house golfers in villas clustered around the clubhouses and set golfers up with tee times at other area courses. Golfers are feted in-season with Monday and Thursday night pig-pickings at Talamore, and in 2022 Talamore will have installed 10 Toptracer stations and a short game area with a 12,000-square-foot putting green. The new amenities will turn the practice range into part game emporium and part sports bar, giving golfers an interactive and social experience during twilight and evening hours.

“We can sleep 400 people on property,” says Hausser. “We’re giving them more reasons to get on property and stay on property. It will be a great hangout spot.”

Consider the irony: Toptracer’s ball-tracking technology and array of virtual golf courses allow a golfer to tee it up on many world-renowned courses. Imagine playing the harrowing par-4 fourth on Pinehurst No. 2 from a virtual hitting bay just 3 miles away. Pinehurst and its U.S. Open venue have a lot of history, for sure, but Talamore and Mid South are forging new ground in remaining relevant. PS

Golf writer Lee Pace has written about golf in the Sandhills since the late 1980s and has authored a dozen books about clubs, courses and the people who’ve made it special over more than a century.

PinePitch

Triple Play

The North Carolina Symphony will begin in tranquility and shift into high-octane energy in its “All Strings” concert featuring three selections: Novellette No. 1 by Samuel Coleridge-Taylor; St. Paul’s Suite by Gustav Holst; and Souvenir de Florence by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. The performance will be Thursday, Feb. 3, at 8 p.m., at the Robert E. Lee Auditorium, 250 Voit Gilmore Lane, Southern Pines. For tickets and more information go to www.ncsymphony.org.

A Chance to Be Presidential

The Carolina Philharmonic presents Presidential Keys featuring David Osborne’s romantic piano offerings at the Bradshaw Performing Arts Center, Owens Auditorium, 3395 Airport Road, Pinehurst, on Saturday, Feb. 19, at 7:30 p.m. Osborne has performed at the White House for Presidents Carter, Reagan, Bush 41, Clinton, Bush 43, and Obama. For additional information call (910) 687-0287 or go to www.carolinaphil.org.

Another Classical Sunday

The Weymouth Center for the Arts and Humanities will continue its Sunday music series on Feb. 27 at 2 p.m. with University of North Carolina School of the Arts faculty Kevin Lawrence on violin and Dmitri Shteinberg on piano in the great room of the Boyd House, 555 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. Cost is $25 for members and $35 for general admission. For more information go to www.weymouthcenter.org.

It’s Not Yellowstone, But…

The painted ponies will stampede — if stampeding can take a couple of months — through the streets of Southern Pines for another year. These imaginings of 16 artists will graze all of February and March and will be auctioned off to the highest bidder on April 9. Proceeds benefit the Carolina Horse Park. For further information visit www.carolinahorsepark.com.

Freedom Fighter

Bestselling author Kate Moore will talk about her book The Woman They Could Not Silence, the story of Elizabeth Packard who, betrayed by her husband of 21 years when he has her committed to an insane asylum, fights for her own freedom and the freedom of others. Moore will discuss her book on Tuesday, Feb. 22, from 2 – 3 p.m. at The Pilot, 145 W. Pennsylvania Ave., Southern Pines. For information call (910) 692-3211 or go to www.ticketmesandhills.com.

Try, Try Again

Postponed in January, poet and N.C. Literary Hall of Fame member Marsha Warren will present “Freedom Park: The Inspiring Story of How a Monument to Freedom is Built while Confederate Statues are Coming Down” on Feb. 13 at 2 p.m. at the Weymouth Center for the Arts and Humanities, 555 E. Connecticut Ave., Southern Pines. The cost is $15 for Weymouth members and $20 for non-members. For further information go to www.weymouthcenter.org.

Puppy Love

Roll over and join the “Furever Yours” Valentine’s Day Gala hosted by Caring Hearts for Canines on Friday, Feb. 4, from 6 – 9 p.m., at the Pinehurst Resort, 1 Carolina Vista Drive, Pinehurst. The cost is $60 for a night of dancing, good food, adult beverages and a silent auction to support the dogs rescued by Caring Hearts. For more info visit https://caringheartsforcanines.com.

The Naturalist

The Bucket List Fish

The wish of a lifetime comes true

Story and Photographs by Todd Pusser

I suppose my bucket list is different than most. Firmly in the grip of middle age, with likely more life behind me than in front, my list has remained constant since the days of my youth. Unsurprisingly, for those who know me, most of the items revolve around natural history in some form or another, and frequently involve travel to remote locations to see rare or poorly known animals. Over the years, I have been fortunate enough to check off a few items from the list but one, in particular, holds a special place above all others.

It all started back in the early 1980s when, as a 12-year-old kid, I stumbled upon a photo in National Geographic Magazine of famed shark researcher Eugenie Clark, clad in a wetsuit and scuba tank, grasping the tall dorsal fin of a whale shark off Baja, Mexico. Such behavior is frowned upon today but, back then, the sight of a person grabbing onto the world’s largest fish and taking it for a ride a hundred feet below the ocean’s surface, down into the abyss, sparked my imagination. I wanted more than anything to see a whale shark in the wild, and above all else, I wanted to swim with one, up close and personal, in its own element.

Fast forward to 1996. While standing on the flying bridge of a research vessel over 100 miles off the west coast of Florida, I encountered my first whale shark. The shark, nearly 40 feet in length, cruised gently beneath the placid surface of the Gulf of Mexico, its white polka-dot body practically glowing in the brilliant blue water, as it passed by within a stone’s throw along the starboard side of the ship. To say I was ecstatic is an understatement. I was completely over the moon with joy, having seen the beast of my youthful dreams.

Over the following 25 years, I encountered the immense fish a dozen more times in such varied locations as Hawaii, Mexico, Panama, Costa Rica and, once, off the coast of my home state of North Carolina. However, all of my sightings were made from the vantage point of steel decks on large ships, high above the surface of the sea. I never had the opportunity to actually get into the water and swim with these amazing animals. My National Geographic moment eluded me, until recently.

Isla Mujeres is an island located off the coast of Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula. It is here, in the clear blue water surrounding this tiny speck of land, that the largest known gathering of whale sharks on the planet was recently discovered. Upon learning this, my partner, herself a marine biologist, and I hopped onto a plane and headed south to observe this phenomenon for ourselves.

Capable of reaching lengths of over 45 feet and weights approaching 15 tons, a whale shark owes its common name to its immense size. Admittedly, it’s a name that can be quite confusing to the average person. Is it a whale or a shark, or some strange hybrid between the two? A whale shark is in no way related to the warm-blooded mammals known as whales, but rather is a cartilaginous fish — one of over 530 species of sharks currently known to science.

Understandably, some may question the sanity of wanting to swim with a fish the size of a school bus. However, whale sharks have extremely small, pointed teeth, and feed primarily on zooplankton and tiny fish, unlike the more carnivorous habits of their famous cousin, the great white shark.

Whale sharks flock to the waters off Isla Mujeres each summer to feed on the eggs released by spawning schools of false albacore tuna. A thriving tourist industry has built up in the area, and thousands of people have experienced the thrill of swimming with these gentle giants.

During our week there, we encounter well over 300 whale sharks, an astonishing number for such a rare fish. Though global whale shark populations are unknown, the species is considered endangered. At one point, as our boat drifted quietly on the calm Caribbean Sea, we could see whale sharks, with their immense polka-dot dorsal fins breaking the water’s surface, clear out to the horizon.

Donning a mask and snorkel, I finally have the opportunity to slip into the water among the sharks. Lying motionless at the surface and staring out into the infinite blue, I find myself unconsciously humming the theme to Jaws.

After a few minutes, near the edge of my vision, a dark shape appears. As it nears, I take note of the large mouth set on the front of a square-shaped head, and an immense body covered in a unique pattern of white spots. Powered by a tail spanning over 10 feet from tip to tip, the enormous fish swims closer and closer. Raising my underwater camera, I frame the shark in the viewfinder and press the shutter as it swims by within arm’s reach, completely ignoring me. Never before have I been so close to such a large creature.

Enthralled and feeling more than a bit humbled, I continue to watch the leviathan as it swims slowly out of sight, disappearing into the infinite blue void — a childhood dream, carried nearly four decades, finally realized.  PS

Naturalist and photographer Todd Pusser grew up in Eagle Springs. He works to document the extraordinary diversity of life both near and far. His images can be found at www.ToddPusser.com.

Out of the Blue

Short on Days

But loooong on celebrations

By Deborah Salomon

February is laden with holidays — maybe more than any other month, beginning with Chinese New Year on Feb. 1, followed by Groundhog Day on Feb. 2. Then, Valentine’s Day on the 14th, with Presidents Day on the 21st. The entire month has been designated American Heart Month and Black History Month.

Every month has its sillies with February no exception: National Toothache Day, Crab-stuffed Flounder Day, Public Sleeping Day. Notable birthdays, too: George Harrison and James Dean were born in February, but so was Hitler.

Besides being the most mispronounced month, February is also the shortest. Somehow, this evens things out cosmically while messing up the birthdays of those “leaplings” born on the 29th.

Most Western nations live by the Gregorian (solar) calendar with 365.2425 days, as opposed to the Julian calendar of 365.25, which faded from fashion in 1582. Moveable religious feasts like Easter and Passover are determined by . . . well, it’s complicated.

Obviously, Gregory and Julius didn’t have to deal with National Dog Biscuit Day, which falls on Feb. 23.

Hmmm. I’m enjoying the extrapolation, starting with the Chinese Year of the Tiger on the 1st. No matter how you feel about President Xi Jinping, the food is sensational, especially holiday specialties which include a whole fish for luck, long noodles for long life and the yummiest dumplings. For background music, cue up Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger,” from Rocky III.

Lincoln set forth the Emancipation Proclamation in September; it took effect in January. Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. was born in January; MLK Day is celebrated in January but Black History Month (love the soul food banquets) is observed in February. Why? Though it took decades to arrive at the month-long celebration, the seed was planted in February because of the proximity of Abraham Lincoln’s birthday on Feb. 12 and Frederick Douglass’ on Feb. 14.

Lincoln’s birthday used to be a separate holiday, followed by George Washington’s birthday (cherry pie) on Feb. 22. Then the ski resorts figured out that by combining the two and adding all the other presidents — noteworthy or not — they could institute a midwinter ski jaunt, fueled by French onion soup topped with melted Gruyère. The government then instituted the Uniform Monday Holiday Act, designating the third Monday in February (glorious skiing, not too cold) as Presidents Day.

On Presidents Day, I imagine John Adams commiserating with George H.W. Bush about stuff their sons messed up while in office. Or hear JFK and WJC blog about White House hanky-panky. American voters should know that LBJ was hooked on Fresca and that James Polk, the single-term president born in Pineville, North Carolina, graduated from UNC-Chapel Hill and invented the mullet, with photos to prove it.

As for Heart Month playing off the Valentine symbol, I’ve yet to see a romantic menu lacking fat, cholesterol and lots of sugar.

Speaking of St. Valentine, how sad that the patron saint of lovers came to such a gruesome end. Seems emperor Claudius had him beaten to death, then decapitated for defiance on Feb. 14. Legend adds that Valentine fell in love with his jailer’s daughter, smuggling her a card bearing his name before his execution. Lordy, don’t tell Hallmark. Or Godiva, Russell Stover and Hershey.

Groundhog Day sports a complicated history, from the ancient Celts’ pagan observance midway between the winter and summer solstices, to Candlemas, marking the presentation of Jesus at the Temple in Jerusalem. Germans added the groundhog (originally badger) element when they settled in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania — as unspellable as Coach Krzyzewski, who was born Feb. 13.

This year we are spared, barely, Mardi Gras, which happens March 1.

I just couldn’t stomach gumbo after dumplings, chocolate, cherry pie and chitlins.   PS

Deborah Salomon is a writer for PineStraw and The Pilot. She may be reached at debsalomon@nc.rr.com.

Good Natured

The Season of Love

One day is just the beginning

By Karen Frye

We think of love as we celebrate Valentine’s Day on the 14th but, hopefully, we focus on it the other 364 days as well, creating a lifestyle for ourselves. Start your day with feelings of love and spread it everywhere with everyone. End your day with gratitude for all the love you’ve received. Tune in to these feelings and reap the incredible benefits it brings to your life.

We are born into the world with immense love. This force within us can be nourished and grow more powerful with practice. Life can be challenging, but its lessons can be opportunities to use our hearts to find a way through obstacles and grow stronger. When we understand that love can resolve so many of the confrontations and challenges life brings, we become more loving, even in the most difficult times.

Each morning before you get out of bed, connect to your heart center. Be grateful that your heart is beating and sending feelings of compassion, empathy and love to every cell in your body. Open yourself to the good things happening to you. Sharing the love you feel with others will open their hearts as well. We must embrace, and even love, those who have hurt us.

Love has the power to change many things. It can end anger, strife, resentment and emotional pain. Everything improves with practicing love, but the person who benefits the most is you. What footprint will you leave on this world? Walk the path of love. Uplift others. You will be happier, healthier and more content with your life, and the world will be a better place.  PS

Karen Frye is the owner and founder of Nature’s Own and teaches yoga at the Bikram
Yoga Studio.

Hometown

One Degree of Separation

And other brushes with greatness

By Bill Fields

The first celebrities I saw in the flesh weighed about 2,000 pounds apiece.

They were the Budweiser Clydesdales, parading down Broad Street in Southern Pines in the 1960s, and they didn’t yield to the left if they didn’t want to. To a 60-pound kid, a one-ton horse seemed as big as a brontosaurus.

My celebrity encounters veered from the equine over the years, but star sightings outside the golf world — on which I’ve reported for four decades — have been few and far between.

Sadly, Meryl Streep never looked forward to commuting on a train to Grand Central Terminal with me as she did as Molly to Robert De Niro’s Frank in Falling in Love. I did get a hello from Massachusetts governor and presidential candidate Michael Dukakis on a 1988 flight to Boston. Friendly, lots of hair, not a lot of height. In a long check-in line at LaGuardia Airport, Chris Farley, in sunglasses and a hoodie, nodded in my direction when we made eye contact. On a flight to London, Robin Givens, sans Mike Tyson, sat a few rows away.

It wasn’t unusual for folks to see Paul Newman out and about in Connecticut. I walked past him once on a sidewalk in Westport, and his eyes were as blue as you thought they were.

Covering a PGA Tour Champions event at Pebble Beach, I needed a few minutes from Bernhard Langer for an interview after his round, which concluded on the ninth hole a long way from the Lodge. Langer asked me to join him in the shuttle van so we could talk during the short ride back to civilization. Clint Eastwood, who had played in Langer’s group, was in the front passenger seat, and seeing an interloper clamber into the vehicle didn’t make his day.

“You can take the next one,” Eastwood said to me.

“Bernhard told me to come with him,” I replied.

“It’s OK, Clint,” Langer interjected.

Eastwood still seemed peeved when we reached the clubhouse. His demeanor to a stranger was much different from that of another Hollywood A-lister, Jack Lemmon, with whom I had crossed paths at a golf tournament at Pebble Beach years earlier. Lemmon was walking his standard poodle across a parking lot and offered a smile and a friendly hello.

Lemmon was a fixture each winter on the Monterey Peninsula, where he tried in vain to make the amateur cut and play on Sunday in the AT&T Pebble Beach Pro-Am, the old Bing Crosby Pro-Am. I didn’t expect to see Glenn Frey of the Eagles under the big live oak at Augusta National Golf Club on Masters Wednesday in 1997. But Frey loved golf and was there, in a white caddie jumpsuit, to loop for pal Brad Faxon in the Par-3 Contest. I lament having not seen the Eagles in concert during the band’s heyday, but I got to meet Frey and shake his hand that day.

Two iconic figures in sports and entertainment, John Madden and Betty White, passed away within a couple of days of each other near the end of 2021. Tributes focused not only on how much they accomplished during their respective careers but how well they treated people throughout their long lives. I never met either icon — saw Madden dining in a California restaurant once — but the coverage made me think of the time I met one of my childhood baseball heroes, Brooks Robinson.

Back in the late 1980s, I knew the former Baltimore Orioles third baseman was going to be playing in a celebrity golf event in Florida that I was covering. Once on-site, a lot of people were paying attention to the former New York Jets receiver Don Maynard, a Texan who was teeing it up in shorts and spiked cowboy boots. I prioritized finding the baseball Hall of Famer who had worn No. 5 and won 16 Gold Glove Awards.

If Robinson had grown tired of grown men asking him to sign a baseball while hearing about how he inspired them to play the hot corner in Little League, he sure didn’t show it. He was gracious and genuine, and as he signed the brand-new Rawlings baseball I’d brought along, I was 29 going on 12.   PS

Southern Pines native Bill Fields, who writes about golf and other things, moved north in 1986 but hasn’t lost his accent.

Bookshelf

February Books

FICTION

Carolina Built, by Kianna Alexander

Based on the life of real estate magnate Josephine N. Leary, Carolina Built tells the story of a woman born into slavery who gained her freedom at the age of 9 and succeeds in building a real estate empire in Edenton, North Carolina. Striving to create a legacy for her two daughters, Josephine teaches herself to be a businesswoman, to manage her finances, and to make smart investments. But with each passing year, it grows more and more difficult to juggle work and family obligations. Alexander brings Leary to life in her page-turning book of historical fiction as Josephine becomes a wife, landowner, business partner and visionary.

Love and Saffron, by Kim Fay

This witty and tender novel follows two women in 1960s America as they discover that food really does connect us all, and that friendship and laughter are the best medicine. When 27-year-old Joan Bergstrom sends a fan letter — and a gift of saffron — to 59-year-old Imogen Fortier, a life-changing friendship begins. Joan lives in Los Angeles and is just starting out as a food writer. Imogen lives on Camano Island outside Seattle, writing a monthly column for a Pacific Northwest magazine. While she can hunt elk and dig for clams, she’s never tasted fresh garlic. The two women bond through their letters, building a closeness that sustains them through the Cuban Missile Crisis, the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, and the unexpected events in their own lives. Told in three parts, this tender and honest book is a reminder that we are never finished growing, changing and loving.

The Christie Affair, by Nina de Gramont

“A long time ago, in another country, I nearly killed a woman . . . ” So begins The Christie Affair, a stunning new novel that reimagines the unexplained 11-day disappearance of Agatha Christie that captivated the world. The story is narrated by Miss Nan O’Dea, a fictional character based on a real person who infiltrated the wealthy, rarified world of author Christie and her husband, Archie — a world of London townhomes, country houses, shooting parties and tennis matches. First, she became part of their world, and then she became Archie’s mistress. What did it have to do with the mysterious 11 days that Agatha Christie went missing? The answer takes you back in time, to Ireland, to a young girl in love, to a time before The Great War, to a star-crossed couple destined to be together until war and their shameful secrets tore them apart.

Black Cake, by Charmaine Wilkerson

In this moving debut novel, two estranged siblings must set aside their differences to deal with their mother’s death and her hidden past — a journey of discovery that takes them from the Caribbean to London to California, beginning and ending with her famous black cake. Eleanor Bennett passes away in present-day California, leaving behind a puzzling inheritance for her two children, Byron and Benny: a traditional Caribbean black cake — made from a family recipe — and a voice recording. In her message, Eleanor shares a tumultuous story about a headstrong young swimmer who escapes her island home under suspicion of murder. The heartbreaking journey that unfolds challenges everything the siblings thought they knew about their family, the secrets their mother held back, and the mystery of a long-lost child.

CHILDREN’S BOOKS

Love You By Heart, by Peter H. Reynolds

Triumphs, joys, fumbles, falls, when you truly love someone, you love all of them. The perfect little gem for Valentine’s Day, or any day, because when you love someone, you love them warts and all. (All ages.)

Bob Ross, Peapod the Squirrel, and the Happy Accident, by Robb Pearlman

Mistakes are just happy accidents when Bob Ross and Peapod are in the art studio. Celebrate art! Creativity! Fun! This little book encourages young artists to go with the flow. (Ages 4-7.)

Smooch!: A Celebration of the Enduring Power of Love, by Karen Kilpatrick

Whether you’re in the pool, the tub, or get licked by your furry friend, nothing can wipe away the kiss of someone who loves you. For family members who cannot be together this Valentine’s Day, this adorable title is the perfect way to say, “I love you.” (Ages 3-6.)

Bold Words from Black Women: Inspiration and Truths from 50 Leaders Who Helped Shape Our World, by Dr. Tamara Pizzoli

From Alice Walker to Zora Neale Hurston, this stunning collection features quotes and portraits of 50 amazing Black women. An absolute must-have for young readers. (Age 6 to adult.)  PS

Compiled by Kimberly Daniels Taws and Angie Tally.

Crossroads

Moonshine Murder

The legacy of the Big Swamp meltdown

By Lisa Weiss

Every family has its secrets. Sometimes they’re taken to the grave or held close to the heart for safekeeping. And sometimes, as was the case for my family, the secret — Granddaddy landing in the gas chamber at Central Prison — made an indelible mark on the soul of a skinny 8-year-old boy who would later become my daddy.

Granddaddy Palmer was a so-called tobacco farmer from North Carolina, although he had never plowed a field that Daddy could remember. Instead, he let his son (my daddy) ride shotgun in the old Ford pickup while he delivered homemade whiskey to the locals. Palmer and his uncle by marriage, George Allen, were two of the biggest bootleggers in the county, and the two of them fought for bragging rights to the Big Swamp distillery business. Uncle George owned the 15-by-15-foot store at the intersection of Seventh Street and Singletary Church Road in Robeson County, so he had a natural distribution point for his product. But Palmer had the most prized asset: a reliable and abundant supply of sugar. In fact, he had 3,300 pounds of it in the backwoods of the Big Swamp, which ensured a constant flow of his moonshine mash.

Sugar during this time was rationed due to the war. Palmer’s secret stash, which in his mind was his patent, always kept him one step ahead of Uncle George. When he refused again and again to reveal his sugar source, Uncle George’s greed got the better of him, and he snitched to the local sheriff, spilling the location of Palmer’s stills. Naturally, festering contempt came stomping out of the backwoods. And with a loaded shotgun.

Walking a mile to Uncle George’s house that morning did not tamp Palmer’s temper, but rather gave rise to it. When he stormed into Uncle George’s house, George leapt from the breakfast table and fled out back, screaming for his wife to get his gun. Not intending to kill anyone — although he surely wanted to make his point — Palmer fired several shots between the siding of the barn where Uncle George went to hide. 

Daddy and his siblings had scattered that morning when they witnessed their own father’s rage and their mother’s pleading. Crouched low and staring bug-eyed at the edge of the cotton field where a split in the path led either to the swamp or Uncle George’s, they waited. It did not take long. The sound of gunshots, paired with the frenzied resolve on Palmer’s face when he returned, kept them as silent as Uncle George’s barn.

Palmer rummaged through the house with a burlap sack as he prepared his getaway into the Big Swamp. He called for Blackeye, the family bulldog, who had a black ring the size of a hickory nut around his left eye, marking his reputation as a fighter. Palmer had paid $5 for him as a pup but when someone later offered $100 for him, he didn’t consider it. He loved that dog.

And so, with his dog, a quilt, a cast-iron skillet and a 5-gallon demijohn of moonshine, Palmer set out into the dark swamp to ride out the manhunt. As the minutes turned to hours, and then days, a sense of self-satisfaction and pride grew. Man and dog survived the elements. But while the moonshine soothed Palmer’s soul, Blackeye grew weary. Over the years, that dog had fought off rowdy strays, snarled at drunkards — would have done anything to protect his master. But Blackeye did not growl, budge or even nudge Palmer as six men in uniform approached them through the dark muck. Like most things in a swamp, the dregs rise up or their stench gives them away. The dog sighed. Granddaddy went to jail.

Uncle George had been carted off to the hospital in the back of a pickup truck. Gunshot wounds to the shoulder, leg and lower abdomen complicated by pneumonia sealed his fate. Following a two-day trial, Grandaddy Palmer was charged with first-degree murder and sentenced to the gas chamber. Some folks tasted sweet revenge, while others puckered from the sourness of it all.

When facing certain death, some men become remorseful and discover a sense of purpose. During the eight months it took Palmer to walk the green mile, he learned a little French, sought out the forgiveness of God and his family, and wrote letters . . . lots of letters. His conversion story was covered widely by the local and regional press. His letters were published and used in sermons across North Carolina and Virginia. He was fighting for his soul while his lawyer fought for his life. Despite his remorse, including a petition signed by all but two of the jurors, he was denied an appeal by the State Supreme Court. Daddy used to say, “I don’t think he hated to die as much as he hated to see what he had caused.”

On Feb. 19, 1943, a farmer turned bootlegger walked into the gas chamber at 10:01 a.m. in Raleigh, North Carolina. He smiled and nodded to the sheriff. His arms and legs were strapped to the wooden chair with a high back, a brown leather mask adjusted over his face. Any hopes and dreams were sealed in the airtight chamber.

I can’t say they thrived, but all six of his children survived to tell — or not — their own stories of Palmer. The tragic tale became family lore. Creased, worn letters and press clippings from this born-again inmate passed down from generation to generation. Stories and memories of Palmer fell into the crevices of time, aged and somewhat forgotten; yet, they had the power to expose a gnawing urge to seek out “the unarmed truth and unconditional love”* desperately craved by a family, and particularly, by a fatherless 8-year-old boy, tender and sweet, despite the lack of sugar in his life.  PS

*From Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s 1964 Nobel Prize acceptance speech

A North Carolina native, Lisa Weiss is an interior designer and artist. She and her husband, Richard, live in the Charlotte area. Charles Meares, her father, served 41 years in the North Carolina Department of Corrections and was superintendent of the Gaston Correctional Center. He was twice the recipient of the Order of the Long Leaf Pine, granted by the office of Gov. Jim Hunt and again by the office of Gov. James Holshouser.